


Star Wars: The Force Beckons (Episode 8)

by AlydiaRackham1



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlydiaRackham1/pseuds/AlydiaRackham1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke Skywalker refuses to come out of seclusion—until he discovers that Rey can see Kylo Ren in her dreams. Now, Rey must confront the dark in Kylo’s heart, the truth about her family, and what it means for her dearest friends when the Force calls her to save her mortal enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

STAR WARS  
The Force Beckons  
Alydia Rackham

Prologue

 

Luke’s heart pounded irregularly against his breastbone as he strode down the corridors in his new orange-and-white flight suit, his boots tapping on the stone, his helmet tucked under his right arm. He’d been told that the last man to wear this had been an ace Old Republic pilot who had retired to Alderaan. The thought made Luke’s blood run hot, and he ground his teeth as he charged into the hangar bay.  
The scent of fuel and oil filled his lungs, and the clatter of machinery surrounded him as he glanced through the huge, electrically-lit cave filled with battered X-Wings and Y-Wings, and the pilots and artoo units that hurried between the landing gear.   
Movement caught his eye off to his left, and he slowed his pace. He stopped.   
The sight before him took a second to register. And when it did, he silently had to admit that he wasn’t surprised—and yet a deep, bitter gall slid down into his gut.   
Han Solo—that tall, handsome rogue with the crooked smile, bright eyes and a biting sense of sarcasm; who Luke had literally escaped from hell with—and his copilot, the towering Wookie Chewbacca, stood near the Millennium Falcon, noisily stacking small boxes of credits onto the loader. As they kept working, quickly and methodically, the gall transformed into a sharp pang that shot through Luke’s chest, and the heat in his blood increased.  
“So. You got your reward and you’re just leaving, then?” The accusation fell out of his mouth, and echoed through the hangar—but he didn’t regret saying it. Han looked up.   
“That’s right, yeah,” he retorted. “I got some old debts I’ve gotta pay off with this stuff. Even if I didn’t, you don’t think I’d be fool enough to stick around here, do you?” He hefted a box up and set it to one side, then faced Luke, cocking his head. “Why don’t you come with us? You’re pretty good in a fight.” Han shrugged. “We could use you.”   
Luke’s eyes widened.  
“Come on!” he cried, and gestured to the other ships. “Why don’t you take a look around? You know what’s about to happen, what they’re up against! They could use a good pilot like you—you’re turning your back on them.”  
Han raised his eyebrows.  
“What good’s a reward if you ain’t around to use it?” he scoffed, and reached for another box. “Besides, attacking that battle station ain’t my idea of courage. It’s more like…suicide.”   
He stacked that box, then grabbed another one. Luke’s hand clenched around his helmet.  
“All right. Well, take care of yourself, Han,” he bit out. “I guess that’s what you’re best at, isn’t it?”  
And he whirled to storm away, swallowing the pain in the back of his throat.   
“Hey, Luke—” Han started—and there was something different in his voice. Luke stopped, and looked back over his shoulder, his pulse still on fire.   
Han stood there, the derision gone from his face. His lopsided smile touched his brown eyes, and warmed them. And he said nothing.  
Luke felt a strange ripple pass through his whole body. It cooled his blood—and he frowned. Han took a breath, and lifted his eyebrows, just slightly.  
“I’m sorry, kid,” he said quietly. “I really didn’t mean for it to turn out like this. Leaving you holding the bag.” He gestured absently to Luke. “It’s my mess, and I really wish I could have cleaned it up myself. I should have. I tried. But instead, I…Well, it looks like I just went and put my foot in it.” He held his hand up and dipped his head. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I never do that.”   
Luke frowned harder, his heartbeat accelerating in a completely different way. Han stepped toward him, and halted just a few feet in front of Luke. Luke looked up at him, searching his face—and suddenly it was very hard to breathe.   
Han’s brow knitted, and his smile vanished. He gazed earnestly down at Luke, his mouth tightening as it always did when he was in pain.   
“You’ve gotta find my boy,” he rasped, his voice suddenly sounding old and shaking. “You’ve gotta bring him home. I screwed it up, and it’s my fault—I know it. But I need you to do that for me.”  
All of Luke’s muscles broke out in terrible trembling, and he couldn’t move. One side of Han’s mouth twitched upward.   
“And take care of Leia. You’ve always done a better job of that than me, anyway.” He ducked his head, and swallowed hard. Luke sucked in a breath, and it hurt.  
“Han?” he choked.  
Han’s head came up. Pain flooded his eyes. But then, he suddenly broke into a young smile—one shining with tears—and he laughed.   
“Hey, kid—don’t look at me like that. I’ll see you soon—don’t worry about it.” And he stepped in and wrapped Luke up in a fierce bear hug, burying his face in Luke’s neck.   
Luke desperately threw his arms around him—the man who had, somehow, become his brother in all ways but blood. He took fistfuls of his vest and held onto him with all his strength, terror and denial thudding through him.  
And then, all at once—  
Luke opened his eyes.   
His hot blood turned cold. His young body filled with age and ache.   
He stared through streaming tears at the grey stone wall before him, dimly lit by the moonlight that filtered through the window.   
He sat on his wooden cot, his blanket hanging half off his legs. He held out his empty arms, his hands still clenched around invisible fabric.   
And teardrops trailed down his cheeks, and dripped from his graying beard.

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Rey’s hands shook as she fumbled through her pack. Her fingers hit cool metal, and closed around the hilt of a lightsaber. Her throat shut, and she lifted the weapon, her heart fluttering and staggering—and she held it straight out in front of her. Held it out, desperately, to him.  
She, Artoo and Chewie had journeyed here almost in complete silence, tension hanging tight in the air of the cockpit of the Falcon. When her feet had hit the stones and moss of the tiny island in the middle of the ocean, her pulse had begun to pound, and her stomach turned over. And as she climbed the thousands of stairs, the salty sea wind whipping her hair and clothes and chilling her skin, she had to concentrate on simply breathing, and not tripping.   
Up and up she had climbed, her muscles weakening for no reason, her sweaty hand clenched around her staff. Once she had attained the lower heights, she had crept between silent stone huts, all of them hollow, searching for any movement. Twice, white birds had startled her, making her jump back half a step—but no sound besides the flap of their wings and the dim roar of the waves below betrayed any sign of life. Her boots scraped quietly against the stones as something deep within her pulled her up, and up, and up.   
And now she stood on a grassy hill on the peak of the island, the cool wind restless all around her, her muscles quivering, fixed on the man who stood just a few meters in front of her.   
He wore a faded brown cloak and sand-colored tunic, trousers and boots—he would have vanished against the badlands of Jakku. He was not tall or broad, but slight, and naturally easy upon his feet as he turned toward her, as if he walked in silence without thinking of it. He gazed back at her from the shadows of his deep hood. He had blue, limitless eyes, like the sky just before evening touches it, and they pierced right through her. Rey met that gaze and clenched her teeth, her whole body shaking now. But she did not lower the lightsaber.  
He slowly reached up, his right, mechanical hand glinting, and pushed back his hood. His shoulder-length, windswept hair had gone grey, as had his close-cut beard. But she could see the frame of his face—a face with youthful features, now scarred and beaten.  
His attention traced her, absorbing every detail, and drifted down her arm until it fell upon the weapon she held…  
And sorrow—deep and intense as an old wound—swept across his face.   
It shocked Rey to her core—she could feel it ripple through her, all the way down to her bones. Her brow twisted, and she tried to say something…  
Nothing came. The saber faltered in her grip.   
A sharp Wookie cry shot through the silence. Rey twitched, blinking back sudden tears, and spun around.   
Chewbacca charged up the hill toward them, roaring out happy endearments. Luke Skywalker—for it had to be him, it was him—blinked, sucked in a breath, and tore his attention from Rey. And a strange, potent mix of relief and pain washed over his expression.   
To Rey’s surprise, Chewie noisily passed her, ran right up to Luke, wrapped his furry, mighty arms around him and pulled him into his great chest.   
And Luke Skywalker, like a boy, buried his face in that fur, encircled Chewie’s waist with his arms and took fervent handfuls of his long, thick hair. Chewie’s clawed hand came up to rest on the back of Luke’s head, and the Wookie lowered his head and murmured things to him that Rey lost to the wind.   
She let out a long, unsteady breath, feeling as if she was tilting on uneven ground.   
Luke and Chewie stayed as they were for a long time, the desolate cries of the sea birds echoing between the stones. Finally, Chewie pulled back and set his paws on Luke’s shoulders, and made a remark about how different he looked with a beard. Luke’s haunted eyes glanced far up at him, and he nodded slightly. Chewie then complimented him, telling him he reminded him of an old teacher they once knew—and lightly ruffled Luke’s hair. A ghostly smile touched Luke’s mouth for an instant, and he reached up and patted Chewie’s heart.  
Chewie tapped Luke’s elbow, and urged him to come with him—he wanted to show him something. Luke hesitated a moment, then came along. Chewie led him, just slightly, and Luke Skywalker passed Rey without even looking at her.  
But as he moved past her, the hem of his cloak brushed her ankle—and she squeezed her eyes shut and choked. Twin tears spilled down her cheeks.   
Chewie’s footsteps died away. Luke’s made no sound.   
Rey stood for a long moment, staring at the bleak horizon through clouded vision. Finally, she sniffed loudly, swiped at her face, adjusted her grip on the saber, turned and followed the way she had come.   
After a few bends in the path, she glimpsed them—Chewie and Luke—descending, with Chewie in the lead. She picked up her pace to catch up, but when she neared them, a pang traveled through her and she hung back, then kept her distance. Neither of them turned or attended to her.   
At last, they rounded the final bend, and Rey could see the battered Falcon down below, with R2D2 waiting beside it. Chewie kept hurrying down the stairs, but Luke slowed to a stop, and lighted where he was for a frozen moment.  
Then, Artoo caught sight of him—and squealed. The piercing, delighted whine cut through the thunder of the sea. The little droid began rocking eagerly back and forth, clomping loudly against the stones.   
Luke’s stillness broke, and he hurried even faster than Chewie down the remaining stairs, his cloak billowing out behind him. Artoo continued to babble and twitter about how long Luke had been gone, and ask why he hadn’t come to visit him. Luke knelt down in front of him, and reached out with his real hand to touch his dome—as if caressing the head of a little child. Artoo calmed, and settled into a quiet hum.  
Rey crept the rest of the way down and drifted up to Chewie’s side, as Luke leaned forward, closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against Artoo’s lens. Artoo crooned very softly. Chewie let out a low, groaning sigh. And for another long while, no one moved.   
Finally, Chewie called gently to Luke, telling him to go inside and see what he thought—a tinge of pride in his tone. Luke lifted his head, his eyes shining, and forced another shadow of a smile. Then, he rose up and faced the ramp of the Falcon. He walked up slowly, as if memorizing the timbre of the notes his boots made against the metal, and disappeared within.  
Biting her lip, Rey rounded Artoo and followed him.   
She slowed and stopped in the corridor, watching Luke as he moved like a phantom through the old freighter. He absently stretched out his living hand, running his fingertips across the battered walls and over the open conduits and control panels. He paused in front of the ladder that led to the cannon, and looked up to the turret, unreadable thoughts flickering across his eyes. Then, he made his way into the cockpit.  
Gingerly, trying to keep quiet, Rey set down her pack, the lightsaber on top of it, and leaned her staff against the wall. Then, she followed Luke, holding her breath the whole time.  
Luke stood between the seats, one hand on the pilot’s chair, as if he had set it upon someone’s shoulder. He did not move.   
Rey made herself breathe, and primed the sentence again—the one she had rehearsed the whole journey here. She stepped up to his right, and eased around his side to catch his eye…  
The sentence dissolved in her mouth.   
Luke Skywalker was far away. His eyes flooded with memory as he stared out the cockpit viewscreen, seeing what Rey suspected was not slate-colored ocean and sky, but infinitely more fire and thunder and sparkle and fury than she could ever imagine. And he listened to phantasms of old ships screaming past overhead, and old voices that would never speak again.   
Slowly, he bowed his head, and leaned against the pilot’s chair. Rey couldn’t summon a single word—not even a coherent thought. The sight of his face—every line and edge of it—filled her whole being. As if, somehow, she could not remember a time when she did not know it as surely as she knew her own name. And yet she was certain she had never seen him before.  
He turned his back to her. She quickly stepped away. He faced the cockpit door again, and went through it. Rey stayed still, one hand on the passenger seat, staring at the space where he had been. She heard him stride down the corridor and the ramp, and out into the open air.  
Rey sank down into the chair. She wrapped her arms around herself, pulled her knees up to her chest, and remained there. 

 

RSRSRSRS

 

Like a soft velvet cape drawn over a shining mirror, the darkness crept across the sky outside the cockpit. Rey, stiff from sitting so long, finally lifted her head as one bright star appeared in the distance. She listlessly noted that she hadn’t heard Artoo or Chewie reenter the Falcon.   
Wincing, she got up, and headed aft to the galley. She’d had time to stock it before they left the Resistance base, and though she didn’t feel like eating at all, she knew she ought to. Having time to sit down to a meal had become a luxury lately, she couldn’t let an opportunity pass.  
She pulled out a few saucepans and filled them with water, set them on the stove, then opened up the packages of dehydrated bread and vegetables and dropped them in. Then, she bent down and opened up a cabinet—  
And at the bottom sat a package of five bright orange citrus fruits of a kind she had never seen—and a hand-written note.   
“Rey,  
Please give these to Luke. I doubt he has been able to have any for a very long time.  
Thank you,  
General Organa-Solo”  
Rey threaded her fingers through the net of the package, re-reading the note over and over. Then, she set her jaw, got up, and started gathering all the food she could.

 

RSRSRSRS

 

Her pack bumped against her side as she squeezed it close to her, climbing the stairs in the near darkness. She’d scrounged up a small lamp in the back storage, and its stark, bouncing blue light was able to light her way about four steps ahead. Climbing carefully so she wouldn’t stumble and drop everything, she cast around for any glimpse of other light, perhaps a fire. But nothing yet. Nothing.  
She kept hiking, listening as hard as she could. The wind, and the waves below her, composed a lonely song that accompanied her steady footsteps. She passed between the little huts again, her brow tensing with the strain of searching the darkness. She rounded a bend—  
And there he was.   
Seated within the bend of a low half-circle wall, with his back to it, and a quiet fire flickering before him that drenched him in gold and orange. Beaten pillows formed his seat, and he had pulled his cloak around him. Artoo stood next to his right arm, powered down. Chewie lay stretched out next to Artoo, wrapped up in a homespun blanket that barely covered him. Still, he looked as if he were deeply asleep.   
Luke however, watched Rey keenly, his eyes even more vivid in the firelight. Rey started forward, started to speak, then stopped herself. She squeezed her pack hard, then lifted her chin. There was nothing for it now—she’d come all this way up, after all.  
“I brought some dinner,” she said, much more brightly than she’d intended. She made herself lower her tone. “If you haven’t already eaten, that is.”   
He watched her for a moment, and at long last he spoke.  
“Thank you.”  
He had a light, serious, gentle voice. And he gestured to a pile of pillows to his left. Rey stared at them, then edged closer and eased down onto them, crossing her legs. She took her pack off and set it in front of her, alongside her lamp, and carefully began unpacking the containers of bread and vegetables, and the metal plates and cups, and the canteen. She tried to calm her adrenaline-shaking hands as she worked—tried to think of something sensible to say as the utensils clacked against each other.   
“This is a bit foreign to me—sitting outside, with a fire, eating dinner,” she said. “I mean, I did like to eat outside on Jakku, but only if there wasn’t any wind at all. If there was, I didn’t dare. Otherwise, I’d wind up eating mouthfuls of sand. I actually know a few old women whose teeth have ground away to nothing because they ate sand in their bread all their lives.” She poured water into two metal cups. “And I had to plan it, too, if I wanted to eat out, because if I was too late getting in, it got too cold, and the sand felt like…like…” Rey searched for a word.  
“Like ice,” Luke supplied. She looked at him, her hands going still. Luke reached out and took the plate she had designated for him, which was filled with bread and heated vegetables. He also took up a fork.   
“I’ve heard of ice,” Rey said carefully. “But I’ve never seen it.”  
“Well, a blizzard is almost as bad as a sandstorm at night,” Luke explained. “Very cold, and the snow feels like it’s cutting your skin.”   
Rey picked up her own plate, never taking her eyes off him.   
“How do you know what a sandstorm is like at night?” she asked quietly.  
“I grew up on Tatooine,” he told her, studying his bread.   
“Tatooine!” Rey sat up, thrilled that he was speaking. “I’ve heard of it—it’s in the Outer Rim, isn’t it?”  
“Mhm,” he nodded.   
“Is it like Jakku?” she wondered.   
“Yes,” he said. “Though it’s more populated by desert tribes, like Tuscan Raiders and Jawas. And it’s controlled by the Hutts, so there’s slave trade, racing and gambling, and there are more major spaceports, like Mos Eisley.”   
“There’s one spaceport near where I live,” Rey told him. “But it’s not very large. I used to sit out by my walker in the evenings and watch the ships take off. They were quite far away, of course. But I liked the streams they made in the sky.”  
“Your walker?” Luke frowned subtly at her. She smiled a little.  
“It’s an AT-AT Walker left behind from some battle or other. Jakku is covered with space junk. These last few months I’ve been scavenging the guts of a Star Destroyer. It’s been picked pretty well clean, but I know where to find things that nobody else looks for.” She tried to send him a clever, saucy look as she took a bite of her bread…  
And to her startlement, she found that he was gazing softly back at her, as if she had reminded him of something.  
“What is your name?” he asked. Rey swallowed, and sat up a little.   
“Rey.”  
He waited. Rey smiled again, thinly.   
“That’s all,” she said. “I don’t have a last name.”   
He nodded once, studying her.  
“And how did you come to find me, Rey from Jakku?”  
“I…Well, I stumbled upon a BB-8 unit wandering around in the desert,” she began. “And then we found Finn, who used to be a storm trooper, but now he’s not—and he had BB-8’s master’s jacket on, and he told us he was with the Resistance, but he wasn’t, he was just trying to escape the First Order—”  
“The First Order,” Luke repeated gravely, his gaze intensifying.   
“I’ve only just learnt much about them,” Rey said. “They’re led by someone called Snoke, and also Kylo Ren—who might be dead. I hope he is.” Rey’s fist snapped shut, and clenched. Luke said nothing, so she closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and went on. “So, BB-8 was carrying part of a map to find you, and we needed to get it to the Resistance base. But before we could do that, the First Order destroyed the center of the Republic—all of their planets—with a huge weapon, and so we had to go destroy it or it would have killed us all…” Rey’s breathing tightened, and her fist started to tremble again. “And when we did, they killed Han Solo and they hurt Finn.” Tears suddenly welled up in Rey’s eyes again. She had to turn quickly away from him, then struggled to go on. “He hurt Finn. Kylo Ren. He hurt him so he won’t wake up and everyone’s afraid he can’t walk! And he killed Han.” Her brow furrowed, and she swallowed. “I think…I think he’s...” Rey looked through her tears to search Luke’s face. “I think he’s called Ben, and I think…He’s Han’s son.”   
Luke gazed back at her, that deep, wounded sorrow painted across his features again, deepened by the rich light of the fire.   
“Yes,” he whispered. “He is.”   
“How could he do that?” Rey gasped, her tears running down.   
Luke glanced into the fire, and didn’t answer.   
“You haven’t told me how you found me,” he said instead, faintly. Rey wiped her cheeks with her arm bands, and battled to control herself.   
“When we came back to the base,” she said, her voice still quivering. “That artoo unit came out of deep-charge, and said he had the rest of the map. So he and BB-8 showed us their pieces, and I asked if I could come with Chewie and the Falcon to fetch you.”   
Luke went silent, staring into the dancing flames.   
“Why should I come with you?” he asked, as if faraway again.   
And a terrible feeling sank down through Rey’s bones.  
“Your sister wants you to,” Rey said, leaning forward. “She’s been trying to find you for ten years. You’re the last Jedi in the entire galaxy—she needs you. Everyone needs you.”  
Luke did not speak. An icy wind rose from the ocean and rushed through Rey’s hair and clothes, sending a sharp shiver through her. She flinched and wrapped her arms around herself, clamping her teeth so they wouldn’t chatter. But she kept her attention fixed on Luke.   
“I can’t come with you,” Luke breathed. “I can’t go back to my sister.”  
“What?” Rey cried, her heart banging into her ribs. “Why not?”  
“Because I killed him,” Luke murmured, grief filling his frame and dimming his eyes. “I killed Han.”  
“What do you mean?” Rey demanded. Luke’s eyes drifted across to meet hers.  
“I made Kylo Ren,” he said. “And I didn’t destroy Snoke when I had the chance. And so I destroyed my sister’s son, and I killed my sister’s husband.” He shook his head. “I can’t ever go back.”  
And he said no more. He sat there, immovable as stone—with utter finality resting around his shoulders.   
Rey stared at him, hardly believing what she’d heard. She blinked back more tears—angry this time—and she fumbled through her pack again.   
“You can’t say that,” she said defiantly. “Your sister wants you to come—you must come.” She grabbed the bag of orange fruits, pulled them out, and set them frankly down by Luke’s untouched plate. “Look. She sent these for you.”  
The top of the bag gapped open, and one fruit rolled out and bumped his boot.   
He frowned at it, then picked it up. He held it carefully, running his thumb across its shining skin. Then, he looked up at Rey.   
She relentlessly held his gaze. Feverishly hoping he couldn’t see how her deepest foundations were cracking. Luke said nothing, and returned his attention to the treasure in his hand.  
Finally, he set the fruit back in the bag and rose to his feet. He drew off his robe, stepped around behind Rey, bent and draped it all around her shoulders.   
She stiffened—and instantly drowned in the scent of wood fire and sea salt, and his warmth surrounded her. For just a moment, he rested his hand on the top of her head. Then he walked back around, picked up his plate and the fruit, and vanished through the dark door of one of the nearby stone huts.   
Rey sat in the hollow of his absence, her fingers curling around the hem of the robe.  
The night deepened, and the fire lowered to embers. She tilted her head back, searching through the myriad of unreachable stars, striving to glimpse anything familiar—anything at all. But she found nothing. 

To be continued...  
Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

 

“Where is he? We have to find him—Han, we have to find him! He’s too little, he doesn’t know his way around here—”  
“Sweetheart, calm down. He can’t have gone far. We’ll just—We’ll just get some lamps and—”  
“Leia, what’s wrong?”  
“Luke! Luke, can you tell where he is?”  
Rey tried to focus through the foggy darkness. The voices swam around her head, and she thought she recognized them. The first sounded like General Organa-Solo, the second…  
The second, like Han Solo!  
And the third…  
A light blinked on through the darkness. White light. A single lamp.  
And by that light she could finally see the three of them.  
Leia Solo. Han Solo. And Luke Skywalker.  
But they didn’t look the way she remembered.  
Han was so much younger, with dark hair. And though he wore sleeping clothes, he was stunningly handsome, his eyes alert. Leia, standing before him in a white nightgown, was vivid and bright and restless as a thrush; her chestnut hair undone and hanging in waves down to the backs of her knees. And Luke, who held the lamp…  
Slender and nimble, dressed in black. He had no beard, and his sand-colored hair tossed in the night wind. Those same brilliant eyes, though, glanced cuttingly back and forth between his sister and brother-in-law.  
“When did you notice he was missing?” Luke asked, his voice swift and youthful.   
“Just five minutes ago,” Leia answered, wringing her hands. “I thought I heard something, and got up to check on him. Han, he must be sleepwalking again—I was afraid he would do this after we moved here, I knew it would unsettle him—!”  
“Well, let’s get going and look for him!” Han shot back impatiently, waving at the blackness. “We’ll go back to the house and get some lamps—”  
“No, let’s stay together,” Luke amended. “I can feel that he’s nearby, but for some reason he’s a bit cloudy. Come on. We’ll call for him. If he’s just walking, he’s probably close and we’ll be able to wake him up.”   
And the next moment, the three of them took off, away from Rey.  
A flash of alarm shot through her, and she started forward. Her feet swished through grass, cool midnight air chilling her skin. She opened her mouth to say something to them, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to confuse them or frighten them, especially if they were searching for a little boy…  
The lamplight bounced as they picked up their pace, and Rey watched as all three of them moved like nimble, experienced warriors down the uneven hill. Soon, the light began flaring against trunks of large trees, closely knit, and the trio’s feet crunched through pine needles.   
And then they began calling for him.  
“Ben! Ben!” Leia cried. “Ben, where are you?”  
Rey jolted to a halt, stunned.   
Ben?  
Kylo Ren…?  
“Ben!” Han shouted. “Son?”  
“Ben, it’s all right!” Luke added. “Don’t be afraid! If you can hear us, try coming toward our voices!”  
Rey stumbled, and put a hand out onto the rough bark of one of the trees, all of a sudden feeling lightheaded. She watched as the lamp darted off into the blackness, growing smaller and smaller, the calls and footsteps trailing into the distance.   
In almost no time, they had vanished, leaving her alone with only a thin curve of moonlight that hardly gave any light at all.  
And then—a sound.  
Just to her left.   
Wet, ragged breaths. Quiet, suppressed. Choking.   
A child. A little child. Crying.   
She spun to face the noise, her brow tightening painfully. She froze, trying to listen.   
It sounded muffled, like he was covering his face. And he had to be sitting…  
Right by her feet.  
“Hello?” she tried.   
The crying instantly cut off with a gasp.   
Movement.  
The outline of a little head—it jerked up, and the moonlight outlined mussed hair.   
He noisily scrambled to his feet, turned and ran.   
“Wait!” Rey lunged after him, reaching out to him—  
“Rey!”  
Rey’s eyes flew open as strong arms clamped around her. She sucked in a wrenching breath as her vision clarified—  
And she realized she was standing on the very edge of a towering precipice, staring far down at the black, foaming sea, all of it blanketed by silvery moonshine.   
She instantly broke into terrible shivers, and twisted her head to the left to see…  
Luke.  
Luke, with his beard again, his hair wild; held fast to her, pulling her into his chest with both arms. His gaze burned into her, even as he kept fistfuls of her tunic.   
“What…What…?” Rey stammered.  
“Back up,” he urged, easing her away from the reeling plunge. “Careful, careful.”  
Rey shakily obeyed, letting him guide her several steps backward, away from the ledge, until her legs suddenly gave out and she sat down with a thud. Luke released her, but stood just beside her, watching her gravely.   
“What…What happened?” Rey tried again.   
“You said ‘Wait,’” Luke told her. “And then you almost walked right off a cliff.”  
Rey slapped her hands to her head.  
“I’m losing my mind!”   
“Hm. Probably not,” Luke ventured calmly. “What did you see?”  
“What do you mean, what did I see?” Rey demanded.  
“In your dream,” Luke said, deliberately squatting down in front of her. “What did you see?”  
She looked back at him for a long time, letting her hands drift back down. Finally, she swallowed.  
“I saw…I saw you. And General Organa-Solo. And Han Solo. Only you were…much younger,” she began. “And you were searching for a little boy. A boy called Ben. In the woods.”   
As Rey watched him in the harsh moonlight, Luke’s expression slowly transformed. It intensified, his gaze scorching white-hot.   
“That’s a memory that only the four of us share,” he murmured. “But I’ve kept my mind cloaked for years. So has my sister.”   
“Wait, it…That really happened?” Rey asked, sitting forward.   
“Yes,” Luke answered softly. “Ben was five years old.”  
“So…what does that mean? Why did I see it?” Rey pulled her arms toward herself. Luke’s attention drifted away, the skin around his eyes tightening.   
“Have you ever had any other visions like this?”  
“I…Well, not like this. But yes.” She nodded. “When I first touched your lightsaber.”   
Luke’s gaze snapped back to fix on hers.   
Rey’s brow knitted as she stared at the ground, trying to articulate.  
“It was very confusing. I was in a corridor for part of it, I saw a man with a metal hand with an artoo unit…” She blinked, then glanced up at him. “Oh. That was you.”  
Luke’s mouth hardened, but he said nothing. Rey went on.  
“I heard a man screaming, I saw Kylo Ren and other masked men standing in a muddy battlefield, surrounded by…by bodies. He came after me in the forest, with his lightsaber—but out of nowhere I heard a man say my name! I’d never heard his voice before. And then he said ‘These are the first steps.’” Rey searched Luke’s face. “What is all this? What does it mean?”  
Luke’s expression darkened further, he stood up, and turned away. He paced up the hill, then stopped and folded his arms, his back to her. For a while, the wind gusted over the rugged mount, ruffling their clothes, as silence hung between them. He finally shook his head.   
“I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved. Not ever again,” he said. “Yes, there’s evil in this galaxy, and I hate it with everything in me. But I can’t defeat it or even hold it back. I’ve tried.” He faced her again, his features set. “I do have an idea about what is happening to you. But I can’t help you.”   
Rey bared her teeth and jumped to her feet.   
“But I need your help. And she needs your help—your sister!” she cried. “I’m…I have no idea what to do with this sort of thing!”  
Luke stared at her, silent. Rey strode toward him, again trying not to tremble.   
“I know terrible things have happened, and that everyone has made some terrible mistakes,” she whispered earnestly. “But we can only face what is before us. Because no matter what, in the end…” She locked gazes with him, and would not relent. “You must do what you feel is right.”   
Luke took a deep breath, and lowered his head, still holding her gaze. Then, he glanced off, toward his hut.  
“Come on. We’ll get Chewie and Artoo, and I’ll go back with you in the Falcon,” he murmured. “I’ll tell Leia what I think is happening to you, and she can help you from there.”  
Rey mentally stumbled.  
“Wait you—you’re not going to stay?”  
“No,” Luke said, starting up the hill. “That’s as far as I go.”   
Blinking back tears again—it seemed to be frequent, around him—Rey clenched her fists and marched up after him. 

 

RSRSRSRS

 

Kylo Ren jerked awake.  
Searing pain lashed up his right shoulder, the side of his neck and across his face. It throbbed through his left shoulder, and speared through the left side of his gut. He tried to focus, but visions of what he had just awoken from clouded his head.  
Lost. Lost in a forest, at night. Stumbling around in the dark, having awakened with no idea how he’d gotten out there. Falling down in a wild rosebush and cutting up his hands. Hearing people call for him, but they were too far away…  
Seeing a winsome, blade-like young woman move into the light of the moon right above where he sat. Her silhouette captured against the whiteness. She turned. She saw him.  
“Wait…!”  
Kylo blinked again. He had something in his mouth, clenched between his teeth—something that covered his mouth and nose. His exhalations bubbled around his face, and his body felt strange and drifting…  
Ah. A bacta tank.   
Aboard a ship, apparently. He could feel the vibration from the engine tingle up through the walls of the tank. He could only see vague distortions outside the curved walls.   
But he could feel him just beyond.  
Supreme Leader Snoke.  
His powerful black presence seeped and slithered like a wraith just out of Kylo’s sight. And though Kylo could hear nothing while submerged in this liquid, he could feel Snoke’s words.  
“You have disappointed me, Kylo Ren. I expected more from you.”  
Kylo’s memories suddenly clarified—  
Earthquake. Ice. Two lightsabers, blue and red.   
Before that—bleeding. Bleeding onto the snow. Running.  
Before that. Inside the battle station. Watching him fall.   
Before that…  
The blade. All the way through.  
A hand on his cheek. Calloused. Gentle. Hazel eyes.  
Before that: “Yes. Anything.”   
Kylo choked, biting his tongue.  
“Yesss,” Snoke hissed through his skull. “You know what I mean. And so now, you will have another chance to prove yourself. I am taking you to a desolate planet, where you will finally undergo the trials that have been awaiting you since you began this journey. I hope, for your sake, that you do not fail me again.”   
The shadow faded away, though Kylo tried with all his might to catch a glimpse of him. Coldness settled in his muscles, and he strained to recall the breathing techniques he’d been taught to calm his hammering heart.  
But nothing worked. And then, the lights in the roof of the tank went out.

 

To be continued!


End file.
